After
by corneroffandom
Summary: Walt's choices have led him here. He might be alright with that.


It's a quiet country house in the middle of nowhere. They have money, but very few places to use it without gaining attention. Walt takes deep breaths every morning, surprised that the cancer has stayed away this long. Every now and again cars drives by the road that's just barely visible from the house, but for the most part, they are alone. Only once has someone knocked, due to their car breaking down a few miles down, and Jesse had gotten under the hood, tinkered with this and that, and sent them on their way to the nearest town and an actual mechanic, rolling his eyes at how twitchy and paranoid Walt seems at every noise for the rest of the day.

Things had gotten too hot. Even with Gus gone, there were other, smaller, but just as dangerous drug factions lurking around, not to mention the cops obsessively trying to find the manufacturers of the fabled blue meth. Walt thought he could control things but things quickly spiral out of control between all of these different factors and it quickly becomes obvious that none of them are safe, especially his family. And Jesse, who is circling the drain faster and faster since the murder of Drew Sharpe.

So they find themselves here, at this place, living side by side. Not too different from the RV, from the lab that Gus had built, or the various houses that they'd taken over as fronts to cook meth in. But yet it is because that was a stopgap, and this is probably permanent unless something drastic happens, they get recognized or one of them loses what remains of their sanity and offs the other. Walt laughs dryly at the thought, realizing he's caught Jesse's attention, and sits up a little taller.

"What?" Jesse mumbles, staring blurrily at him as he rests his head in the palm of his hand, the stance where Walt was never entirely sure if he was just bored. Or high. Or both.

"Just a ridiculous thought," he says. "It's nothing." They only talk here and there and he's definitely not giving Jesse any ideas- not that there are many weapons nearby, but they both have guns just in case, he's sure. He has his that he bought a long, long time ago, and he has no doubt Jesse has one hidden in his room somewhere. So best to be careful. Sighing, he stands up and heads for the kitchen. "I'm starting dinner now. Do you want something?" His cooking's always been iffy but now that it's just he and Jesse rattling around this old house, he's tried to better himself and can make a few decent meals here and there. Sometimes, when he's feeling particularly courteous, he makes enough for the both of them, especially after seeing the kid live off of junk for so long.

Jesse doesn't respond but Walt does hear the scraping of Jesse's chair as he gets up and joins Walt in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as Walt considers what ingredients they have, the things he can make. "Meatloaf," he suggests lowly.

Walt stares at him for a moment before shrugging. "Grab the crackers then," he says, grabbing a bowl out of the cabinets and preparing the meat, spices and tomato sauce for easy mixing. "Break them up," he commands and they fall into a familiar rhythm, not quite making meth but still working side by side, mixing together yet another meal. It doesn't happen often but sometimes Jesse helps him with meals, and Walt feels that old familiarity and affection for the man next to him, at how dark his eyes get when he's focusing on something, like right now, breaking these packages of crackers like he's trying to detonate a bomb. _Ridiculous kid,_ Walt thinks, nodding his head as Jesse tips the crackers into the bowl, allowing Walt to stir it all together.

Both of them had stopped shaving their hair at the same time, but Walt's is growing faster than Jesse's, as if it has time to make up for since his treatments, and Walt thinks it isn't entirely wrong. It helps to keep their new identities in tack, at any rate, if they look a little different from how they were before. He exhales and reaches out to find a pan, just to pause as Jesse hands him exactly what he was about to look for. "Thank you," he says, pouring the mixture into the pan and pushing it into the oven, setting the heat and timer before going to sit down at the table. Jesse joins him a moment later and he raises an eyebrow at the kid, who had been so angry when Walt had dragged him away from his life with such little warning that he'd barely talked to him for a week, and only now acknowledge his existence.

"Think... they're ok back there?" he finally asks, picking at his hands.

Walt blinks. _Oh._ "Yes, Jesse. My family... well, I worked it all out before I left and... yes, they're better off without me." He still feels disgusted that those lesser than him are making his product, selling rip offs of his perfect drug, but to ensure the safety of his children, even Skyler, well... it had to be this way.

Jesse doesn't look thrilled with this answer and finally mumbles, "What about mine?"

Walt looks even more surprised at this. Thinks about Jesse's parents, his kid brother. He only knows them in the abstract, vague memories from when Jesse was his student. "I'm sure they're fine. They weren't a part of your life, they wouldn't be used as a target."

Jesse nods. Stares at his hands. "Do you think..." His voice dies away and Walt is struck once more by how stupidly young this kid is, despite everything they've been through together and have seen.

"What is it, Jesse?" he asks in a patient attempt at being kind, seeing how close to the surface this kid is, how easily it would be for him to crack.

"Do you think they miss me?"

Walt stares at him. Thinks about his children. Wonders how Junior is doing, if Holly is growing stronger and smarter, braver and curiouser with each passing day. Considers if the Pinkman's longing for their prodigal son could possibly rival with the deep ache he has for his kids that time has yet to ease. By what Jesse had said, they'd given up entirely on him and although Walt understands that Jesse had screwed up pretty monumentally sometimes, he can't imagine giving up on either Junior or Holly like that. If he had the opportunity... He clears his throat and rests his hand across the table, lingering a few feet away from Jesse, not quite willing to touch him just yet. "I don't see how they couldn't, Jesse. All parents miss their children, no matter how they try to hide it."

Jesse nods, eyes wide and wet, tracking Walt as he slowly pulls his hand back and stands up, the words hanging heavy and emotional between them. He moves over to the stove and checks on the meatloaf before straightening back up with a groan, stretching out his back muscles. When he turns around, Jesse is still watching him, though he looks away as soon as he realizes Walt is watching.

Walt exhales grimly and leans up to the cabinets that some not-so-intelligent person had set above the refrigerator, relieved a bit for this style choice as the shelves are too tall for Jesse to even see into, rooting around inside until he hears something crinkle and pulls it down. "I bought this just in case," he says, turning around and watching Jesse's lips part in shock as he stares at the bag. "And you can have some for supper, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to have a little now." He pours some Funyons into a bowl and slides it over to Jesse, watching as he touches the junk food as if he thinks it's a hallucination or a trick of some sort.

"Seriously?" He grabs a handful, his entire body lighting up as he tastes it, realizing that this _is_ real. "Thank you, Walt," he murmurs, Walt missing being _Mr. White_ not for the first time since Jesse had stopped blindly following him. Thanks, in part, to Todd.

"I'm keeping the bag with me, you're not wasting your appetite when this meatloaf was your suggestion," he says, a warning look on his face as he walks towards the living room. "Which will be done in less than an hour."

Jesse watches him go, rolling his eyes, before digging back into his Funyons.

Walt chuckles to himself as he settles onto the couch in the living room, dropping the bag of junk food next to him and closing his eyes. _This may work out well after all._


End file.
